If you have been hanging on for over a week to find out how the story of Charley the cat and his visit to the vet turned out, I apologise for keeping you on edge. If, as is more likely, you have stumbled onto the saga at this point, you might like to discover the first part of the tale here.
I’m not one to cut a long story short unless I have to, and this is potentially a long story, so here goes.
Charley went off to the vet for the unkindest cut of all, although he had to spend the night before with the aforementioned Carol, before his ordeal. This apparently involved something called a crusher basket that held him securely while the anaesthetic was administered. After that (apparently, I wasn’t there) the deed was done and he arrived back here the same day – slightly groggy and later, as mad as hell with Sue and the rest of the world. But then, wouldn’t you be?
A day or so later, Sue noticed that all didn’t seem quite right in the area of the missing artefacts. In fact she became so concerned that I had to make a phone call to Jean, another mad cat woman who organised Charley’s whole experience. Jean then turned up and whisked him back off to the vet where some remedial work was carried out.
If you ever want an entertaining five minutes, try getting a cat that doesn’t want to go into a cat carrier. For Sue it involves wearing a coat and leather gloves (to avoid another trip to hospital, I suppose)
On Charley’s return, his determination to break out of our house seemed to increase. He has tried climbing over and through the door as well as tunnelling under the carpet. Tonight he tried to destroy the (locked) cat flap. Sue was on the verge of letting him out, but my wise counsel prevailed. I said, “Goodbye Charley, we’ll never see you again” and Sue had second thoughts.
Perhaps she should wait until he has settled down here a bit more.
Perhaps that might involve an end to the current feline re-make of the 1960’s cult TV classic “The Prisoner“. Perhaps it might even end the ongoing boughts of alternate hissing and wailing at Sue’s number 1 cat, Misty, and pitiful miaowing by each door in turn, followed by the window and, for some reason, underneath the settee.
I think there must be a secret tunnel under the settee that only cats know about, for in turn, they have all had a fascination with under the settee.
Anyway, the pungent smell seems to have disappeared along with Charley’s two veg, although I really can’t see why our friend Tony had to christen Charley “CNN” for Charley No-Nuts.